Krokodiles Eating Junkies and Silly Utah Names

A while back, an old pal/flame of mine who's spent years dealing with serious substance abuse issues (not to mention fidelity problems) got himself ditched from my friends list.  We hadn't been close for almost 20 years, so it was a surprise when he friended me, especially when, sometimes, he didn't seem sure who I was.  Out of the blue, he went off on some astoundingly dippy religious rant, basically telling me that my lack of belief in a deity is what causes any problems in my life, and how ashamed he is of me that I can't see that.  Other crap, all "goll" related, ending with a "truth hurts, are you ready to admit it?" type-pile.

I dumped him.  Turn it around, what if an atheist "friend" showed up on your wall and said "Hey, I know things are rough for you right now, but you deserve what you're getting because you believe in a deity.  I'm ashamed of your belief, and it's what's causing your pain.  Truth hurts?"  

Yeah.  To be "fair," Sean's always been a socially blundering fool, but this went too far.  So I dumped him.  He "apologized" via email (you know, of the "I'm sorry, but YOU" variety, with some interspersed "I've always been blunt and unthinking, it's just who I am" excuses thrown in), and I said that yeah, okay, but I still don't want you in my life anymore.  I'm tired of reading about your infidelities, your inability to maintain yet another marriage, etc.  Good luck, good bye.

Anyway, out of curiosity, I went to check up on him the other day.  To be blunt, I wanted to see if he was still alive.  He tends to relapse when things don't go his way, and he's just ended another marriage.  And what do I find?

A long, vicious rant about parents who don't vaccinate.  About how they're child abusers and morons whose children should be taken from them and raised by the state.  They should be charged with child abuse, neglect, and reckless endangerment.  And a whole host of other punishments fit for parents who fail to toe the health department line.

And all from the guy who cooked meth in his house.  With his kids present.  All from the guy who tweaked and drank and smoked weed and tooted coke and dropped acid while "rearing" his children.

Parenting on Meth

Hey, I have some pretty strong ideas about vaccinations.  In general, they're good.  That said, I think the scheduling and mode of delivery isn't the best out there--it's geared for the lowest common denominator, for parents who might drop the ball, so they try to pump as many vaccines in at a time as possible as early as possible.  I KNOW vaccine reactions are real because my son HAD one--he reacted very badly to the DTaP, which is why his subsequent vaccinations didn't include DTaP, but, instead, only DT.  Because of that reaction, we held off on the MMR until he was older, which our doctor agreed was wise.  After all, our boy was homeschooled and not likely to be exposed.  And, in fact, he wasn't.  By the age of 12, he was fully immunized.  

My point?  I GET the "anti-vaccine" crowd, I just don't agree with the conclusions they've reached based upon the research available right now.  I also GET the pro-vaccine crowd, but disagree with some of the scheduling and "lumping up" of vaccines.  What I don't get?

Is some dull-wit junkie tweaking in front of his kids while condemning folks who, out of (often misguided) concern for their children, don't vaccinate.  Seriously?

"Glass Houses" doesn't even BEGIN to cover that one.

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Speaking of drugs, have you heard about "Krokodil?"  From what I can gather, it's all the rage in Russia.  A cheap, dirty version of desomorphine, this stuff leaves addicts with an average life span of less than two years from time of first use.  

Nice, huh?

Apparently, much like meth, this stuff can be cooked up at home, and there's the problem. While it does contain codeine, an opioid, it also resembles meth in the way it's become a jumble of impure and often highly toxic substances.  The high is similar to morphine, but doesn't last nearly as long.

Oh, and it rots you from the inside out.  I'm not going to post the pictures, but you can look them up easily enough.  

This stuff is now making its appearance in the States, and you've got to ask yourself--WHY?  How stupid can a person be?  There was a news story out of Chicago just the other day--three people hospitalized because of this stuff.  Two hadn't known it was Krokodil, and hey, fair enough--you're still an idiot for injecting what you thought was heroin into your veins, but compared to the third person, who KNEW it was Krokodil and did it ANYWAY?

You're bleedin' Einstein.

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Speaking of stupid, self-destructive, deluded creatures who cause those around them devastation and pain?

Shutdown ended.  And those nuts are already talking about how they're going to do it all over again in January.

Vote.  Vote them out.  Vote at the primary level.  Vote in the general election.  Make sure your family votes.  Your friends.  And make sure you vote in the Republican primaries--that's where this small, loud, stupid, well-funded group of radical activists makes the difference.  That's where they do the damage.  Don't let this guy become the face of America, huh?

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And I'm going to end on a variation of the "stupid baby names."  I'm going to hone in on stupid UTAH names.  Because Utah?

Is it ALL when it comes to atrocious names.  

Just this week, while researching obits/death records for my high school, I've come across the following:

• VaLaunne
• LaVor
• Elihu Moroni
• DeOrr
• Lennis
• LuJean
• DerMeta
• LaVelle
• Coriantumr (I did NOT make that up)
• Teancum
• DeeWill
• LaMonte
• Enos
• LeGrande
• Nephi
• Leahonai
• Heber
• LouRanne

That's not an exhaustive list, just a few favorites.  You may notice something of a trend there--the mash-up.  That's what happens when a Utah man, say, "Merl," marries a Utah woman, perhaps "Nadine."  They mash it on up, and the poor child is left with "Merldene."  

Hey, I have a mother-in-law named "ValDonnis," so it hits close to home.

Scripture aside (that would be the Nephis, the Enoses, the Coriuantumrs and Moronis), there's the "fancify it with a French-seeming prefix" naming convention.  You know, like so:

• Jean + French=LaJeanne!
• Orrin + French=DeOrrin!
• Lonnie + French=VaLaunnee!

And then there's "LeGrande."  You have to ask--which came first, the French Big Mac or the Mormon guy?  Or wait, was that "Le Mac?"  Shoot, and that was funny, too!

Now, don't think that, just because there's an odd tradition of strange, LDS-themed or related names, that Utah doesn't have the flood of just plain crappy American names.  Like:

• Chassadee (guess that's supposed to be "Chastity?")
• "Anjelikka
• Wyntur Reign
• Kaydense (which is a super-unfortunate name)
• Daemon (no kidding--I think they meant Damon, which is still stupid, but not quite so malevolent
• Whisky Jack (like the bird, only with mug shots)
• Breighleeanne
• Deztinnee
• Apathy (seriously)
• The obligatory "ax" names--like Jaxton, Braxton, Paxton, Maxton
• The equally obligatory "ay/ey" names--like Kaydon. Rayden, Shayden, Peyton, Layton, and Satan (okay, that last one is a Utah joke--thus far, anyway)

Watch this--the girls may be fake, but the names are spot-on:

Social Services and Giving Children Back to Addict Parents

So, remember how I was talking about Demarquise Elkins and the problems with poverty and drugs, how I'm starting to think that the only solution is removing kids from these homes and placing them in normal, healthy homes where they can go to decent schools and thrive in a drug and violence-free environment?  Remember how that female relative of mine called me a racist because she assumed I meant black kids being taken from their families and placed in white homes?

My junkie sister-in-law was just given back her kids.

That would be my white junkie sister-in-law was just given back two of her three blond-haired, blue-eyed kids.  The oldest child, her only daughter, refused to return to her.  Smart girl.

This is so frustrating and so painful for us.  You see, in October of 2010, the junkie sister-in-law (heretofore known as JSIL) called us and asked if we would take the boys "just for a couple of hours."  Past experience had taught us that she would hold our entire day hostage, so we said, "Tell you what--we'll keep them for a sleepover, we'll bring them back to you tomorrow."  Now, we went to get the kids because JSIL wasn't allowed in our home.  In fact, she didn't even know our address.  

Hubby came home with the kids.  JSIL had packed them an overnight bag that included underwear too small for them, ONE sock, a pajama top, and a swimsuit.  All stinking like meth.  

We threw the clothes away, then took the boys to the store, bought them each a new outfit, some new socks, new underwear, and new pajamas. No, we couldn't afford it.

Next day rolled around, and no JSIL.  In fact, she wasn't answering her phone or returning calls/responding to messages at all.

Same thing the next day.  And the next.

We wound up working out a deal with hubby's GOOD sister, where she would take the boys from Monday morning through Friday afternoon (because their school was near her house, whereas we were in a different town), we would take them over the weekends and on holidays.  We bought the boys new clothes, new toys, etc.  Hubby's sister fed them, helped them with school work, took care of their doctor's appointments, etc.  We took them places (Living Planet Aquarium, the zoo, Air Force Museum, movies, holiday lights, etc.).  We had their sister over some weekends (the sister who now refuses to live with JSIL).  And, of course, we fed them, bathed them, entertained them, and helped them with their weekend homework.  

That last was hard, because, in addition to being seriously stunted, growth-wise, they're solidly behind academically and all three have pretty serious speech impediments.  Their junkie mother thinks that last is "adorable."  She thinks the whole Elmer Fudd/wild mispronunciations thing is so CUTE!

So here's the deal.  She ditched those kids for almost seven months.  No attempt to get them back, no asking to see them or talk to them, and never once, not even now, a "thank you."  After seven months, she took them back.  Social Services told us we couldn't refuse to hand them over because we couldn't establish abuse or neglect.  We couldn't do that, they said, because she HADN'T HAD THEM.  In other words, regardless of her drug addiction, their emaciated state when they came our way, their speech and academic issues, etc., we couldn't do anything UNTIL WE HANDED THEM OVER AND GAVE HER THE OPPORTUNITY TO NEGLECT AND ABUSE THEM AGAIN.  So it could be DOCUMENTED, of course.

It didn't take long.  JSIL began skipping from place to place, moving the kids from one school to another, exposing them to scary, scary people.  The boys started saying things like, "I don't like DJ, he hurts me."  JSIL was busted for selling food stamps for drugs and other things.  And, finally, Social Services stepped in and pulled the boys.

HAZMAT had to come in to clean the place out, the meth cooking was out of control.  And the boys?  All the toys, clothes, winter jackets, fancy Lands End snow boots--everything we'd gotten them had to be destroyed.  The boys tested positive for exposure to multiple drugs. They were, at the time, seven and five.

Since then, the boys, along with their older sister, have lived with hubby's GOOD sister.  But the JSIL?  After a few false starts, she has managed to pass her drug tests for the past year.  And so they gave the kids BACK.  Except, as I said, the daughter, who refused.

I should be jumping for joy, right?  Oh, success!  Isn't it just so wonderful?

No, not really.  One, this woman has "gone clean" a half-dozen times, and it never holds.  Two, those kids' speech and academic performance NOSEDIVES after just a weekend with this creature.      And three?  She still talks to the same people, engages in the same behaviors (can't get or hold a decent job, counts on the parents to bail her out of troubles every time, etc.).  So none of this is anything but an invitation to more sadness for and danger to those boys.

I'm beside myself.  And all I can do is hope she screws it up early, but not so severely as to seriously endanger those boys.

If you're wondering where the father of these kids is, he's awaiting trial on charges of trying to sell meth to a cop at the local Home Depot.  Yes, he is that stupid.  But, unlike the JSIL, he KNOWS he's that stupid.  He offered to relinquish custody of the boys years ago.  It was the JSIL who refused.  And I can't help but think it's nothing more than her knowing that if she gives them up, she loses any chance at housing assistance, food stamps (yes, they're giving her those things again!), etc.  Maybe that's not fair, but that's what I perceive.

So, to my family member who accused me of being a racist because I think that children whose parents are junkies or gang members should be placed in better homes?  It's not about race, babe.  It's about child abuse and neglect.

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Today is "try to pull the yard together" day.  Hoping to get the re-encroaching dead nettle under control and mow/weed eat so we can get some grass seed down.  Plus, Annie gave Lara and Me some daylily bulbs, and I'd like to get those down.  I wish we had the cash for potting soil this time out.  I don't think my wood sorrel/Iron Crosses are coming back.  Afraid my crocosmia isn't, either.    Maybe they'll surprise me, right?  Was thrilled to find a healthy patch of cilantro/coriander!  Every time my hand brushed across it the smell was heavenly.  The dead nettle is back with a vengeance, but the onions, parsley, and spinach-y stuff all lived over, and the lilac and azalea did well.  Pulled up some onions for salads, will put down some grass seed tomorrow.  Looking to fill the bird feeders in hopes of distracting them from the new grass seed.

Last summer--hoping for something like this, but with better grass coverage

It's also just about time for the hummingbird feeder to go up!  Last year, we put it up too late--got a lot of females, but no males (they come through earlier).  This year, I want to see some males, too!

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Really quick, I want to talk about "sustainable farming" and "organic" and "supporting small businesses and farms" and "saving the planet/reducing carbon emissions."  Because sometimes?

Sometimes those things are utterly incompatible with each other.  Sometimes, you can reduce emissions OR you can support your small, local, sustainable vendor.  Why do I say this?

Because, per pound of produce (or per pound of whatever, really), mass production and mass shipping is markedly less carbon-intensive than small-time operation.  Why?

Because it takes a lot less, per pound, to ship a million pounds than it does to ship a hundred.  Less fuel, less emissions, less everything.  And if customers are then driving 40 or 50 miles to visit that small vendor rather than hitting up the local mega-mart with its .4 mile drive?  That's more emissions, more pollution.

I'm not dissing small vendors or local businesses, but I do recognize that often there is a trade-off--by shopping small and local, I'm polluting bigger.  No, this isn't always the case--if this small vendor grows all his or her own stuff right there on the spot (or buys the supplies for their wares at a big box store) and sells to a customer base that is very close in, that's the best of both worlds.  But if they're buying small bits of stuff from here and there, shipping it piecemeal in small quantities, with customers driving fifty or a hundred miles to shop, that's an emissions/carbon nightmare, and it's not, in any way, saving us from Monsanto, Walmart, or anything else.

Again, I'm not arguing against supporting small farms or businesses, but rather saying that, if you're driving 75 miles to get your organic meat or cage-free eggs because you think doing so somehow "saves the planet," think again.  What you're saving in pesticides and herbicides, you're making up for in petroleum and shipping-related damage to the world.

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And that's all.  Spent my morning figuring out who in my graduating high school class is already in a Facebook group and who needs to be added.  I've unblocked all but one of the oogie people because I want the group to be able to communicate.  There are a couple I'm sure won't unblock me--never-was drama queens and no-talent wanna-be straight-to-video "stars," and I guess I'll just have to soldier through, huh?


Do not reprint without permission. © KAQ

Run Away!

I tend to peruse the Utah mugshots online.  The sheriff's department and local newspaper maintain a frequently updated database, and I like to wander through every few days.  Mostly looking for in-laws, but also curious as to the number of meth arrests and how many of my old high school party buds are still skidding along with no sign of growing up.  Yeah, there's one old high school pal who's in those shots two or three times a month--public intox, over and over.  It's very sad to see.  Doesn't look so much like "Key's Hunny" now. 

Today, I came across one of those really scary ones--a guy with tattoos all over his face.  I remember studying that sort of thing in college, discussing the social "disconnect" that often accompanies that sort of drastic self-alteration.  Reading the description of his "distinguishing marks," I see that, in addition to the freaky tribal thing he has on his face, he has swastikas tattooed somewhere less visible.  Reading further, I see that he was picked up for a series of offenses, including drugs, avoiding apprehension, driving on a revoked license, a slew of failures to appear, and a firearm charge.  Mr. Scary Guy, do me a favor, wouldja?  Get those swastikas tattooed on your face so I know to run like hell when I see you.  Please?

My hands are really rather bad this morning.  It's funny, I didn't realize at first--not until I went outside to water the new grass (which is sprouting for now, but I refuse to get excited) and fiddled with the sprayer.  I realized that my fingers didn't just hurt, they were almost unwilling to bend enough to grasp the sprayer tightly.  That eased as soon as I forced the issue and flexed the fingers a few times, but it was a surprise. 

The work crews have been outside since 7 am, cleaning the pavement on the street for the work they'll be doing tomorrow and Tuesday.  That's two days we'll have to find somewhere else to park.  Yay!  Lucky them, I was already up that early.  Otherwise, I'd have stormed downstairs, whipped that door open and . . . glared.  For a minute.  Then closed the door and groused to the dog about it.  Yeah, I'm a scary one, huh?

New bumper stickers came last night--a new Obama sticker and a Human Rights Campaign sticker.  Our car is starting to look like one of THOSE cars.  You know the ones, they resemble nothing so much as a well-worn valise covered in travel decals? 

Oh, and there's the sun!  I think I'll go outside, mow the patch of grass, and listen to my birdies!

The REAL Zombie Apocalypse

So, hubby and I were driving the other night when the subject turned to methamphetamine.  It's a personal subject with us--see, his younger sister is a "tweaker," has been screwing up her family and devastating her young children for years now.  Her (sometimes) husband (the kids' father) is also a meth addict.  At one point, they ditched their two younger boys with us for an afternoon of babysitting that panned into six months, with us having the boys Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays, and hubby's older sister caring for them through the school week.  SIX MONTHS, and at no point did this creature so much as THANK us, let alone apologize for being such an irresponsible bucket of puke.  While her hapless junkie husband consented to relinquishing custody, the sister refused--see, she was selling her foodstamps for drug money, and no way she was giving up those kids. 

Oh, plus, of course, according to HER, she didn't have a problem.  It was everyone else.  Landlords who want to be paid?  Mean, unfair.  Family members who expect her to be responsible, to care for her kids?  Hateful meanies who are trying to make her look bad.  Friends who tell her to get it together and stop neglecting her kids?  Jealous, spiteful, out to get her.  And bosses who expect her to actually show up for work?  Assholes who have it out for her.

After six months of having nothing to do with her kids, she showed up, demanding them back.  Social Services was no help--see, they could only step in if she HAD the kids.  So long as the kids were with US and hubby's GOOD sister, they weren't in danger.  No danger, no intervention from Social Services.  Long story short, she got her kids back.

Immediately, she moved to the most devastatingly awful part of town.  Shared her living quarters with a number of men, with one in particular inspiring terror in her kids.  Was he abusing them?  Almost certainly, but the boys would clam up when questioned.  Understand the boys weren't the only victims here--she has a daughter, too.  A daughter who stayed with her aunt, who refused to move back in with the tweaker. 

Did Social Services finally (with a lot of prodding) step in?  Indeed, and what a mess.  The rental property (which was hammered, like every property she's ground through in the past five years or so) was so littered with drugs, so contaminated by meth use and production, that they had to throw away all the boys' toys and clothes.  The boys themselves tested positive for meth because the air was so thick with it.  A few months later?  Her husband was busted for trying to sell meth to a cop at a local hardware store.  A few months after that?  She was busted, yet again, and opted to go into rehab. 

As a result, she's had increasingly frequent visits with the kids, and I think it's a terrible idea.  These kids are so messed up already, they have totally adopted her "everything is everyone else's fault" viewpoint, to the point that they blame US (the good sister and my husband and me) for their mother's inability to take care of them.  They will hear no ill of her, they insist that she bought them all the toys and clothes they have.  It's wrenching to hear, especially from the oldest, the girl, who is torn right down the middle because, on the one hand, she knows all about her mother, even knows that her mother has traded sex for drugs.  She was witness to much of it.  But on the other hand?  On the other hand, she wants her mommy to love her, she wants the family she is never going to have.  So, while she does appreciate what her aunt has done for her, she still crawls to her mom and begs for affection.  It's devastating to watch.

The kids are still with the aunt, and they're doing okay.  The boys still have wowser speech problems--at eight and six, they're still very difficult to understand.  That had improved markedly during the six months they were with us, but the time back with their mother completely undid any progress.  The boys are also quite stunted in their growth--they're tiny for their age.  At our Christmas party year before last, the younger boy, who was five at the time, was smaller than our friend's three year old girl.  Even with these problems, they're doing okay--except that their mother will almost certainly soon be asking for them back.  And Social Services has a bad habit of handing kids back because, gosh, we need to preserve the family at all costs.  This isn't the first time their mother has "gotten clean."  It is almost definitely not going to be the last time, either.  You see, her idea of "clean" involves a lot of prescribed meds for everything from PTSD to ADHD.  Last time she ditched meth, she spent years eating prozac, xanax, zoloft, and lortabs (for chronic whatever).  So my hopes for her long-term recovery are pretty low. 

Anyway, back to the meth discussion on the drive.  I was talking about how much more dangerous I think meth is than other drugs like heroin or cocaine, because meth is so cheap.  It is so accessible.  Any idiot with 20 bucks can walk into Walmart and assemble the ingredients.  Heck, a recent news story detailed a guy walking through Walmart MAKING meth as he walked using the "shake and bake" method. Plus, the havoc this crap wreaks on dopamine receptors in the brain is permanent--you don't quit meth and things go back to normal.  No, you've fried things out forever.  This stuff makes cocaine look like candy, and it makes going clean and staying that way a Herculean effort.  The affordability, the ease of production?  Make the problem of meth a huge one that grows by leaps and bounds every day.  My husband shook his head and said, "Tweakers--maybe THAT'S the zombie apocalypse, huh?"

Maybe it is.

Oh, and real quick, I want to say that hubby's sister and her foodstamp selling?  Not a reflection on the vast majority of foodstamp recipients, and not a judgment call on folks who receive foodstamps.  If a family is struggling to put food on the table, I am all for giving them a hand.  People in America shouldn't be hungry.  Period.  And so you know, she was busted at it, and she was punished. 

The World Eats Children

I was reading the local paper yesterday morning (the online version to save the trees, of course). As per usual, I hit the obits second (front page comes first). I’ve always been drawn to the obituaries, just as I’ve always felt myself attracted to cemeteries. The last, usually loving tributes to folks who aren’t anymore. It’s beautiful, but beyond that, it often brings with it a wave of “what ifs.” You know—“what if I died, what would Tom put in my obit?” and “What if that was my mother, what would I say about her?”

Yesterday, it was “What if my 12 year old child who loved playing guitar and dreamed of traveling had committed suicide?”

Oh, damn. What if? What if it was my beautiful child, my heart, his life tapped out in a few dozen lines on an obit page? What if the world chewed up my boy and spat him out broken?

I look back on all the things my parents didn’t discuss with me. Suicide, drugs, alcohol, sex, violence, bullying, peer pressure, devastating depression—all of which were a big part of my growing up. I shambled through my childhood, completely lost. I was lucky in that most of my friends were good ones. Maybe not moral compasses, but certainly not wells of depravity, either. I was lucky that, with one notable exception, they all cared about my welfare, even if the stick they used to measure good from bad wasn’t quite in keeping with society’s norms. Or “nerms,” as we used to say.

They say the world is what we make it. If that’s true, we’re breathtakingly broken. I sit down and I talk about suicide, meth, and teen pregnancy with my 12 year old and my brain screams, “WHY? Why does he have to know this stuff at 12 years old? What is WRONG with us, that we’ve created a world where 12 year olds are getting other 12 year olds pregnant and 13 year olds are bullying their classmates to DEATH?”

Why do I have to explain to my child that poking at people who are different, whether it be skin color or sexual orientation, is a bad thing? Shouldn’t we, as a society, already know that? Shouldn’t that be a given? It’s 2010—how can racism or bigotry still be an issue? Aren’t we smarter than that?

And am I part of the problem because I’m making my child aware? I told him about auto-erotic asphyxiation and “huffing” when he was NINE, because other NINE year olds were doing it—and DYING. How jacked up is that? How terrible?

And if you think all THAT'S bad, imagine being a child in Gaza? Haiti? Thailand?

I don’t have a point here. I’m railing against a messed up world that eats people. That eats children. And my heart is thrumming and mind is buzzing with fear because maybe our love and our lectures and our watchful eyes just aren’t enough. That child in yesterday’s paper? Her parents loved her, too. She was their heart. They watched and guided and adored.

And the world got her anyway.